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The first man came storming into the room with a scream that could curdle even the bravest man’s blood, carrying with him one of the giant woodcutting axes that he had used to break apart the hinges of the King’s bedroom door. He ran forward and smashed his shoulder against the barricade, sending a chair skittering out of the way before another Guardsman came behind him and started to scrabble over the pile of gilded and polished furniture.

“First rank present!” Schultz shouted, and to him it sounded as if his voice hesitated in the face of this wild eyed Guardsman that came forward at him with axes and bayonets, but to the men he seemed to be unnaturally calm.

The first man was tumbled over the barricade and picked himself up, and Schultz was amazed at the bravery of the man, who would charge a line of loaded muskets that were all trained on him.

“Fire!” Ten muskets spat out and the leading Guardsmen and a man behind him were plucked back, his white crossbelt and breeches quickly turning red.

“First rank kneel! Second rank present!”

The odd calm had come over Major Schultz now, when he knew he had a task and all the world seemed to sharpen around him, giving him the will and strength to do his duty. The men in the front rank who knelt were already biting back at cartridges and going through the laborious process of reloading their muskets, while those in the second rank stood with muskets at their shoulders, their faces grim as they sighted the Guardsmen who were pouring into the room and either dismantling the barricade or climbing over it.

Another Guardsman was over the barricade and he fired his musket, the bullet catching one of the men kneeling in the first rank in the thigh, who collapsed with a yelp of pain. One of the men not in line fired back, standing on the now mattress-less bed frame with his arms looped around a post to steady himself, and his bullet plunged into the mass of Frenchmen that were cramming and pushing their way through the door.

“Fire!” The barricade had been almost entirely cleared away, the giant dresser having been picked up as if it were matchwood and hurled away by a giant of a Guardsman, and the French soldiers now had a clear path to their enemy. The volley crashed into the knot of them and threw three of them down, but the others simply climbed over their bodies.

“Second rank kneel! Third rank present!” His voice was hurried now, as the hulking Guardsmen who had hurled the dresser out of the way was charging forward, axe in his hand which blood from where he had been shot in the arm was dripping from.

“Fire!” The man was spun around, and the bullets whipped back his head to smack into the Frenchmen behind him, but he regained his balance and came forward again, his eyes already showing a slight glazing, but he was one of Napoleon’s best, Napoleon’s Immortals, and he gave one last bellow and threw his axe which crashed into the head of a man in the second rank with a sickening thud before he fell.

They were flooding into the room now, and Schultz knew that musket volleys were not going to be enough to stop them. He cast an eye towards the two privates who were cutting apart the mattress just as they finished and looked towards him. He pointed at the window, and then shouted over the mass of yelling and screams.

“Toss the clothes and whatever else as well!” They nodded mute understanding, and Schultz turned back to the Frenchmen that were coming at him.

The first rank had reloaded and so Schtulz shouted at them to fire and their muskets coughed out more smoke into the room which now looked as if there was a fire inside, which he realized that there actually was, as the musket waddings had caught on the carpet and were feeding small fires in front of his men.

The volley thudded into the French, and Schultz heard the crack of it hitting a French musket, and then he was trying to drown out the sounds of the fight with his own voice.

The rear ranks were scrambling to get to the window, but the leading man balked as he saw how high the drop was, but a kick from behind sent him out with a yelp and a sickening scream of terror. The scrape and clink of bayonets echoed through the bedroom, in Schultz ears somehow sounding louder and more menacing than the shouts and screams that filled the room.

Captain von Werner was beside him, and Schultz yelled at him to get out the window but he shook his head, his face white with terror despite his display of bravado.

The French were pouring into the room, and a handful of them went to attack the mass of Prussians that were escaping through the high windows, Prince Frederick safely in the middle of that mob, but they were being held back by the giant Hermann who was swinging his musket like a club and cracking open the Frenchman’s heads despite their bearskin helmets.

“Charge!” Schultz screamed at his front line, in truth his only line. Nine men plus the frightened Captain von Werner. They screamed their defiance and went forward with bayonet to show Napoleon’s Imperial Guard how real men fight.

There was a sickening crash as the Prussians smashed into the French mob that was in the room, and Schultz could hear the scraping of a bayonet being dragged out of a man’s ribs, and then his world was filled with the body of a French sergeant. They were so close that Schultz could see the tobacco stains on the man’s yellowed teeth, and then he brought his knee forward into the man’s groin, but he was quick and kicked forward with his thigh to block it, and then grabbed Schultz sword arm which was being brought down to plunge into the man’s shoulder. Schultz threw his weight forward and headbutted him in the nose and the man tumbled back before a Prussian private from the 12th Saxon Foot Battery stabbed the man in the stomach with his bayonet. The man let go of Schultz sword arm with a gasp and the Major brought the blade into the Frenchman’s throat.

He was screaming incoherently, the mad scream of the damned, and his men were doing the same. They were pushing back the French through sheer terror, and the flow of Imperial Guardsmen had stopped, instead soldiers from regular French units were coming into the smoky room that smelt of death and sounded of madness, but still they came on.

Schultz tripped over a man’s guts and fell, narrowly avoiding a bayonet that came at him from his left. The same private who had saved him before reserved his musket and slammed it into the man’s teeth, shattering them across the floor before moving onwards. They were beyond orders, beyond discipline. This was the madness that battles always devolved into, but the French were winning.

They were winning by sheer weight of numbers, for the small force of Prussians could never have hoped to hold the room against such a mass of men. The French rushed forward with a snarl and Schultz picked himself up and looked towards the window, where the last of his men turned and fired his musket into the advancing French before jumping out.

“Back! Back!” His soldier’s hardly needed the order now that the French were storming through the room’s body choked entrance. They ran, barely managing to throw themselves out the window in time. Major Schultz was the last to hurl himself out the window, and he felt the slap of a musketball fly by his cheek as he plunged out.

The fall threw all the breath out of his lungs and his ankle erupted in pain, shooting through his entire body. His drew a sharp breath and cursed, looking down at the swollen and red skin. Hopefully it was just a sprain, he thought as he rolled himself off the mattress. He stood and quickly took stock. Most of his men had made it out and were waiting a short distance away, and he waved towards them before shuffling away with the men who had jumped out directly ahead of them. He ordered two of them to drag the mattresses away, but he doubted the French would follow – the room they had left was too rich and gaudy, it would hold the French there more successfully than Schultz’s force ever could; with greed.

He limped along, the sword at his side trailing a path of French blood behind him. He had escaped the King’s palace, but there was still the city to find his way out of, and he doubted the French would be too receptive when they found a group of armed Prussian soldiers this large in their recently conquered Berlin.

I actually really liked it; laws of narrative and their preservation notwithstanding, that was one hell of a fight scene, and quite visceral in every sense. Better, I completely believed it. "The mad scream of the damned" is just such a concise way of getting the emotions across. I hope my battle scenes will be half as good when I come to them.

Now the palace room will be stripped and melted down to earrings, but the protagonist escapes. What next?

I actually really liked it; laws of narrative and their preservation notwithstanding, that was one hell of a fight scene, and quite visceral in every sense. Better, I completely believed it. "The mad scream of the damned" is just such a concise way of getting the emotions across. I hope my battle scenes will be half as good when I come to them.

Now the palace room will be stripped and melted down to earrings, but the protagonist escapes. What next?

Hopefully when I get to the more in depth conversations they'll have half the flair that yours have as well!

Next would be the crazy flight through the streets of a Berlin crawling with Frenchmen.

Originally Posted by Najs

A shame it will be on hold for almost a month. But at least you managed to end it without a massive cliffhanger.

Yea. See, the place I'm taking my courses with over the summer said you could only take two, so me being someone who finds it very hard to follow rules took three, and now I realize that it wasn't some silly bureaucratic reason for the number, but rather that there's so much bloody work! Haha.

Yea. See, the place I'm taking my courses with over the summer said you could only take two, so me being someone who finds it very hard to follow rules took three, and now I realize that it wasn't some silly bureaucratic reason for the number, but rather that there's so much bloody work! Haha.

... Yeah. When there's a recommended upper limit for coursework, don't push it. It's there for a reason - from the guy who took steel design, concrete design, and dynamics and vibration in one semester while working full-time.

Meantime, when I finally get around to playing/writing my England game again, you've set the bar pretty high.

... Yeah. When there's a recommended upper limit for coursework, don't push it. It's there for a reason - from the guy who took steel design, concrete design, and dynamics and vibration in one semester while working full-time.

Meantime, when I finally get around to playing/writing my England game again, you've set the bar pretty high.

I just keep getting through it by saying to myself 'Long days, short years." Works!

I actually think my writing is kind of bland; I need to get the hang of showing stuff more than telling, I keep falling into that pit. Thank you though! Compliments are always very much appreciated.